


Rabbit, Rabbit

by Englishtutor



Series: The Other Doctor Watson [24]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, John is amused, Mary is confounded, Molly has a new boyfriend, Molly is awesome, Molly is moving on, Tom is not what anyone expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7067614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englishtutor/pseuds/Englishtutor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly is tired of waiting for Sherlock and is moving on.  But her choice of new boyfriend has Mary confounded, astonished, befuddled, disturbed, and utterly floored.  And John is rolling on the floor in hysterical laughter.  But not for long!  Because rabbity Tom is not what anyone expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Confounded Rabbit!

She reeled in through the door of their flat, feeling utterly dazed. To her relief, John was home already, and in the midst of cooking dinner. Mary collapsed into a kitchen chair, emotionally exhausted.

“Hello, love,” John greeted her with a kiss. “You look done in. Pleasant luncheon with Molly?” She mustered up the energy to groan in answer.

Molly had called her that morning and invited her to luncheon. Luncheon had stretched into an entire afternoon’s ordeal. Molly had had a great deal to talk over with her friend, and Mary was not certain what to do with the information.

“How did you like Molly’s new flat?” her husband asked, turning back to stir the concoction on the stove. “She’s certainly coming up in the world—Marylebone district! Must be fantastic!” Mary covered her face and remained silent. 

Concerned, John turned down the heat under the pot on the stove and sat beside his weary wife. “What’s happened? Is she all right? What’s going on?” he asked solicitously. 

Mary sighed. “I’m confounded, astonished, befuddled, disturbed, and utterly floored. Molly is seeing someone,” she reported soberly.

John frowned. “You mean, as in, a boyfriend?” he ventured.

She nodded, understanding his hesitation. They both knew that Molly’s taste in men ran to the dangerous and unpredictable. “She says she’s given up on Sherlock. And I don’t blame her for that; he’s completely oblivious. But the first words out of her mouth when she told me about this new one was: ‘He’s not a sociopath.’”

“Right,” John nodded, sceptical.

“His name is Tom. He’s a pharmacist at St. Bart’s. They met through friends. They like the same pubs.” Mary listed the facts as she knew them dispassionately, trying to remain objective. “She’s met his family, and they seem normal to her. And, um,” she searched her memory for more information, “oh, he has a dog.”

“Sounds . . . respectable,” John suggested.

“He does, doesn’t he?” Mary agreed reluctantly. “’I’m moving on,’ she said to me. ‘I’m getting on with my life. I want what you and John have before I get too old to enjoy it,’ she said. Well, who could blame her for that?” the corner of her mouth quirked in a wry smile.

“So, what is it that worries you?” John asked gently, looking relieved. “Are you upset that she isn’t hanging on to her hopes that Sherlock will notice her one day?”

“No, no, it’s not that. I thought it all sounded lovely, at first. I was very happy for her. But then, after she told me all these wonderful things about him, she showed me his picture, and that’s what’s confounded me. Feature this, Captain: he’s very tall and slender, has black, curly hair, light blue eyes, high cheekbones, and in this picture at least, he was wearing . . . .”

“Don’t tell me! A Belstaff overcoat,” John groaned. “Did he come complete with the correct wardrobe, or did she give it to him?”

“I didn’t dare ask. But, oh, he looks more like Sherlock’s brother than Sherlock’s brother,” Mary worried. “’Moving on’ my arse! What can we do, Captain?”

He looked at her, amazed. “Nothing,” he said firmly. “We’re not going to meddle in Molly’s private life. It’s none of our business, is it?”

“Of course, it’s our business! She’s our friend, and she’s going to be hurt. Or Tom is. Or both of them, most likely,” Mary fussed.

“Maybe he really is just a nice, normal bloke. Just because he physically resembles Sherlock doesn’t mean she’s not moving on. I mean, maybe she just has a type,” John reasoned.

“You know she has a type!” Mary reminded him. “Dangerous and unpredictable.”

John grinned at her suggestively and waggle an eyebrow. Mary snorted a short laugh.

“Okay, so she’s not the only one,” she admitted. “And it’s not a bad type, I suppose. But when I asked her to tell me what she liked about him, her answer was unsettling to me.”

“Well,” John prompted.

“Cute, cuddly, harmless, avoids dangerous situations, keeps regular hours, a real stay-at-home. Oh, and they have lots of sex.” 

John burst into hysterical laughter and nearly slid out of his chair. Mary frowned at him in disapproval, and tears ran down his face as he tried to control his hilarity.

“John! This is serious!” Mary scolded, trying to hide her own smile.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s just,” John gasped for breath. “It’s just, he sounds the perfect rabbit,” he managed to say.

Mary could not hold back a snigger in response. “He does, doesn’t he?” she admitted, her dimples showing. “You see why I think they can’t be happy together? It’s obviously a purely physical relationship. They have nothing whatever in common. I asked her if she really thought she could base a serious relationship on just those characteristics, and she couldn’t answer me. Deep down, she knows he’s not right for her. She’ll be bored to tears in a month.”

John visibly struggled to get control of himself once more. “So, it’ll be over in a month. No need for you to stick your nose into it, Mary. Just stay out of it, and the situation will take care of itself.”

“We can’t stay out of it,” Mary declared flatly. “She wants him to meet all her friends. We’re going over to her flat on Friday for dinner. Sherlock and Greg as well. Mrs. Hudson is out of town, or she’d be invited, too. She’s serious about this, Captain. We have to go, and we have to behave ourselves. No sarcastic comments, and absolutely no hysterical laughter!”

“I think I can vouch for you and me, and probably Greg. But will Sherlock behave?” John wondered doubtfully.

“Will he even go, is the question? And should we encourage him to, or encourage him to give it a miss?” Mary mused. She groaned again and covered her face dramatically. “I wish you hadn’t put that ‘rabbit’ idea into my head. Now all I can think about is that rabbit poem.”

“What rabbit poem?”

“Oh, you know the one: ‘The rabbit wears a charming face. His private life is a disgrace. I really dare not name to you the dreadful things that rabbits do.’”

This started John off laughing again, to her dismay. “John, really! What if he is a dangerous psychopath in disguise! It would explain why she’s attracted to him, wouldn’t it?”

“His charming face explains why she’s attracted to him, love,” John said dryly. “And rabbits are meant to be good luck, aren’t they? But we’ll go have this dinner and vet him for ourselves. We can’t really make any judgements before meeting him, can we?”

Mary stubbornly thought that she bloody well could! But she nodded reluctantly. “Rabbit, rabbit,” she muttered ironically. “Feed me my dinner already, why don’t you? Being confounded is hungry work!”

John chuckled and agreeably fed his confounded wife.

000  
For those not in the know, saying “rabbit, rabbit” first thing when one awakes on the first day of the month is meant to bring good luck for that month. I’ve no idea where this superstition came from. If anyone can enlighten me, I’d be grateful!


	2. Down the Rabbit Hole

The decision whether or not to encourage Sherlock to go to Molly’s dinner party was taken unexpectedly out of their hands late that Friday afternoon by a desperate phone call from the Metropolitan Police, who were investigating the mysterious burglary of a prominent jewellery shop just round the block from Molly’s Marylebone flat. Mary left the clinic immediately upon receiving John’s text concerning this development and met them at the shop.

“The security for the crown jewels themselves isn’t superior to ours, Mr. Holmes,” Mr. Jennings, the owner, was protesting. “And except for the internal cameras, none of the security systems were tampered with in any way.” His short, stout frame was rigid with indignation, and his face was so red Mary feared for his blood pressure.

“None of the doors or windows were opened. None of the alarms were tripped,” the Met officer in charge, a young man called Sgt Davies, assured them. “There are none of the anomalies in the security computer logs that would indicate the door alarms or the pressure alarms on the windows were interfered with in any way. Turning off the alarms by using the control panel would have been noted in the log. The external cameras show no one approaching either entrance or any window in the building on any floor, and none of the fire exits were tampered with. ”

The officer stopped for a breath in his litany. Mary was impressed by his thoroughness, although Sherlock seemed not to be listening at all. Davies doggedly continued his recitation, “The internal cameras were switched off in Mr. Jennings’ own office, but there’s no way to access the office without passing through the front of the shop or through the hallway in the back, and the cameras show no one going into the office before the cameras were switched off, or leaving it after the cameras were switched back on.”

As Davies listed all of the ways the crime could not have been committed, Sherlock was swooping around the store, examining everything in minute detail. Watching him made Mary feel quite dizzy. He then swept down the hallway to the back entrance and looked at the camera placements, Mary and John close in his wake. The storage areas were perfunctorily perused and cleaning equipment taken note of. Rubbish bags were opened and searched briefly. Then down on the floor he crawled, back down the hallway to the office, which was the last room to be scrutinized. He ended his search by standing on the owner’s desk and shifting a ceiling panel, looking up into the floorboards of the storey above. Mary couldn’t help but smile as she realized how the burglar must have entered the office.

Then Sherlock spoke for the first time since his arrival. “What is on the first floor of this building?”

“My flat,” the owner explained. “I live in the top two floors of the building. That’s the guest room, up there. But there’s no access to my flat outside of the building. I can only enter it through the shop. You saw the stair in the hallway by the back entrance. The cameras in the hallway clearly show no one came through that way.”

“You were not at home last night,” Sherlock stated. It was not a question.

“No. But no one knew I wouldn’t be home, except the shop clerks. Anyway, why does that matter? I told you, there’s no access to my flat except through the shop, and we know no one came into the shop,” Mr. Jennings insisted. “And there’s no way to climb up to the windows without being caught on the exterior cameras.”

Sherlock did not bother to speak but held out his hand to John, who wordlessly placed his knife into it. Pushing the knife point into a crack in the floorboards above and easily lifting them, Sherlock silently demonstrated the ease of dropping through the floor into the office from the flat above, through the hole just under a bed. The owner’s jaw fell open in dismay.

“But how? How? When? That, that, that, that shouldn’t be there! It, it, it never was before!” the distressed Mr. Jennings stuttered, in shock.

“The burglar did an exemplary job of cleaning up after himself, but he missed a bit of sawdust, which he must have tracked into the hallway on his shoes,” the detective explained in his lecture tone after climbing down from the desk. “This crime has been very well planned, but the criminal got into a bit of a hurry, I’m afraid, and rushing through an intricate plan will cause one to become sloppy in the details. He obviously came through the skylight in the roof, moved the bed aside, sawed through the floorboards, moved the ceiling panel aside, and climbed through. After turning off the interior cameras, he helped himself, cleaned up his mess, and left the way he came in. Elementary,” Sherlock sighed. “This is a four, at best. A waste of time.”

“What do you mean, a waste of time? You haven’t given us the burglar yet!” the Met officer objected. “It’s all very well to explain how it was done, but we need a suspect to arrest as well!”

Sherlock’s face clouded up like a thunderstorm, but Mary hushed him with a quickly upraised right index finger, and John hastily stepped into the fray. “Let us talk to the clerks. We’ll get you your jewel thief, never fear,” he assured the men calmly.

Seven clerks were ushered into the office, looking nervous. Mary knew, however, that this nervousness was likely not due to guilt, as Sherlock was eyeing them with an imperious look; that was enough to make the purest heart shudder.

“Which of you had the impropriety to disclose the fact of your employer’s intention to be out of town last night?” the detective demanded without preamble. The seven clerks looked at each other suspiciously. One of them, a young woman who looked to be a college student, stepped forward, shaking visibly. 

“Um, I might have done,” she whispered, frightened. Mary went to the girl and put an arm around her encouragingly.

“It’s all right, dear. Just tell us the truth. That’s all we want. You won’t get into trouble.” Mary looked pointedly at the owner. “Will she?” she stated firmly.

“Oh, no! Of course not!” Mr. Jennings hastily assured her placatingly, and Mary nodded her satisfaction.

“Well, there was this chap,” the girl began. “He was . . . he was chatting me up. He’d come in sometimes and . . . he seemed nice! We went for coffee once. I thought he liked me! A few days ago he asked me to go for drinks after my shift, but I told him I had to stay until closing because Mr. Jennings was out of town. I don’t remember whether I mentioned that he wouldn’t be back until today, but I might have done.” She burst into tears. “I thought he liked me,” she sobbed.

“What was the chap’s name?” Davies asked, pen and paper in hand. 

“Oh, don’t be absurd; he wouldn’t have told her his real name!” Sherlock scoffed, and the girl cried harder. Mary held her and patted her back comfortingly. 

“Manners, Sherlock,” Mary murmured. He wrinkled his nose at her impatiently.

He huffed, but tried to gentle his voice. “Did he ever go into the back during his little visits?”

The girl pulled in a long breath and steadied herself. “Once he asked to use the loo. It’s here in the back, across from the office. He seemed so nice and normal, I just pointed out the way. I didn’t watch him. I don’t think he was gone very long.”

“So he was able to mark the position of the office and the control pad to the security system at his leisure,” Sherlock told her sarcastically. “Good work!” The poor girl sobbed again.

Mary waved a threatening finger at her friend. “Sherlock! Tone it down!” she warned sharply.

“What did this chap look like?” John interrupted before his friend could hurt the girl’s feelings further.

The clerk pulled herself together, encouraged by John’s kind manner. “Brownish hair, kind of long and straightish; brownish eyes; tall, but not too tall.” She seemed able to describe only in relative terms. “Oh, he had a friend with him sometimes! Maybe it was his friend who broke in!” she remembered in excitement. “Why, he looked a bit like you, Mr. Holmes. A bit taller than you, and broader in the shoulders. And, kind of, well, rabbity, I thought.”

Mary’s eyes met John’s in shock. “Rabbity?” Mary asked. “What does that mean, rabbity?”

The girl looked a bit confused. “Well, you know, he was quietish; never said a word. And he looked nervous, like he’d bolt if he heard a pin drop. Now that I think about it, the resemblance between you is only surfacy,” she mused. “I don’t think he was cruel in any way.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at this description, but it rang none of the alarm bells for him that were ringing for Mary and John. They had decided not to tell Sherlock anything they knew about Molly’s new boyfriend before the dinner so as not to bias his opinion. At least, that was the official reason. The real reason was that they wanted to see his face when he met his doppelgänger. Now Mary wondered if they should mention Molly’s rabbity new boyfriend’s resemblance to Sherlock. She looked at John with raised eyebrows, and he shook his head sharply. 

John dismissed the clerks with a friendly and reassuring smile while Sherlock stood silently musing, his hands steepled.

“There are a number buildings that could give the thief access to the roof,” Davies was saying. “I’ll start looking into the CCTV farther down the street to see if there’s anything suspicious. The security in all these buildings, though, is very stringent. No one could just walk into any of these places and climb to the roof without key cards or access codes.” He left with authoritative assurances to Mr. Jennings of recovering the stolen goods.

Sherlock also wandered out into the growing dusk, leaving Mary and John to say their good-byes. When they joined him on the pavement, he was taking note of the locations of the cameras up and down the street. “That block of flats, around the corner. That’s the most likely place of access. It’s the tallest building on the block. None of the CCTV cameras across the street are mounted high enough to note any activity on the top floor of that building. We should investigate the roof immediately. We’ll have to talk our way in as we’ve done before.” He began striding purposely towards his goal.

“No need, Sherlock! Molly will let us in. She was expecting us ten minutes ago,” John assured him, trotting to catch up.

Sherlock stopped and whirled around. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “Why should she be here and why should she be expecting us?”

“Dinner, Sherlock, remember?” Mary said with excessive patience. “Molly lives here now. We’re meeting her new boyfriend tonight?”

Sherlock looked puzzled. “Why would we want to do that?” he wondered.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Mary sighed. “Just come along. You can investigate the roof after dinner. It’ll still be there, I’m sure, and Molly will have the access code to the roof door to let us up there.”

“Perhaps she wouldn’t mind waiting dinner until after we’ve looked at the roof.” Sherlock sped up, nearly running to the entrance to Molly’s block of flats. 

John and Mary looked at each other, amusement and dismay competing with one another in their expressions.

“Here we go. Down the rabbit hole,” Mary muttered, and hurried along to catch up with their friend.


	3. The Dreadful Things That Rabbits Do

“What do we do now?” Mary hissed in John’s ear as they approached the entrance to the block of flats. “What if Molly’s Tom is a jewel thief!”

John shook his head firmly with a grim look. “We don’t know anything for certain yet. He could be a perfectly innocent bystander. And that chap could have been simply chatting up the shop clerk. Or, it could be another bloke who looks like Sherlock. Calm down and we’ll just keep our eyes open.”

Mary knew he was right, but all her instincts were sounding the alarm. Still, as she pushed the button to Molly’s flat, she remained composed. “Molly showed me round when I went to luncheon with her the other day,” she explained to Sherlock. “You can’t get in without a card key, and even if one of the tenants buzzes you in, you still can’t go anywhere but the hallways and the elevator. There are access codes for the gym, the laundry, the door to the roof. Everything.”

An unfamiliar male voice coming over the intercom system interrupted her. “Yes?” 

“Oh, you must be Tom. I’m Mary Watson. Molly invited us to dinner,” Mary said brightly.

“Come on up!” Tom said. The door clicked, and they entered the building.

They took the elevator to the top floor and Mary led the way to Molly’s door. At their knock, Tom called, “Come in! It’s open!”

They all froze just inside the door. There on a hook in the entryway was the exact twin to Sherlock’s Belstaff. His eyebrows disappearing into his hairline, Sherlock frowned and hung his own overcoat next to the imposter. They all spent a few surreal seconds comparing outerwear. And then their host appeared in the entryway, smiling a welcome. Sherlock’s and Tom’s identical looks of silent astonishment was worth savouring. Their jaws hung slack and then snapped shut in perfect unison. Mary smirked and John sent her a sassy wink.

“You must be Tom,” John extended his hand warmly and filling the awkward silence. “I’m John, this is my wife Mary, and this is Sherlock.”

Tom shook himself out of his stupefied state and rather shyly shook hands all round, then led them into the sitting room. “I’ve heard so much about you all. Molly talks about you constantly,” he said as they all found seats. “I can’t think where she is. She was laying the table over an hour ago, and then suddenly said there was something she had to do and ran out. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair menacingly. “Just what are you intentions towards my pathologist?” he demanded without preamble.

Tom, quite naturally, was taken aback. “Wha . . . what?”

“Sweetheart,” Mary murmured a soft warning. “Go gently.” She turned to Tom with a reassuring smile. “Sherlock’s a bit blunt sometimes,” she shamelessly dissembled. “But you understand, we’ve known Molly for quite some time and we’re curious. And perhaps a bit protective. You know how it is.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I suppose I might feel the same,” Tom replied politely, but still looking nervously as the detective. Sherlock was in deduction-mode, looking at his subject up and down with careful scrutiny.

John sat back in his chair and appeared perfectly at ease. “So how long have you two been together?” he asked casually in his friendliest voice.

Tom seemed to have to count off in his head. “Um, about two months really. I mean, we’ve worked in the same hospital for years, and we’ve seen one another in passing a good deal, but we just started dating about two months ago.”

“Lucky you!” John smiled warmly, drawing him out. “Molly’s a wonderful girl. And you must have many common interests, with both of you in the medical field.” Mary admired the entire lack of sarcasm in John’s tone. He was well practiced at making people feel comfortable with him.

“Um, well, yeah, I guess we do,” Tom began.

John appeared to rummage about in his memory. Cheerfully, he remarked, “Two months, eh? That’s just about the time Molly came into her aunt’s money and moved to this place. You are a lucky one, aren’t you? You must have a whole collection of rabbit’s feet, to have such luck.” Mary was impressed by his disarming smile, which made his accusation sound like true admiration for Tom’s unbelievable good fortune.

“How long have you been living here?” Sherlock interrupted.

Tom was startled. “I. . . I don’t, not officially. I mean, I stay over a lot, but . . . .”

“So you don’t have a key card or the access codes to the building?” Sherlock continued relentlessly.

“I . . . no, I . . . look, I’m willing to answer any questions you’ve got, but this is starting to sound like an interrogation,” Tom tried to joke, attempting to laugh it off. 

“I’m sorry for Sherlock’s manner, Tom,” Mary soothed, patting his arm. “It’s just that he’s very keen to get onto the roof, and I told him Molly could give him the access codes.”

“We’ll just have to climb up through a window!” Sherlock exclaimed, impatiently jumping up from his chair. He went to the nearest window and examined it. 

Tom rose hesitantly. “Um, you can’t open the windows, you know. There’s safety mechanisms to keep them shut. For . . . for safety, you know.” His voice quavered a bit.

“Hmm. I see,” Sherlock murmured, his examination apparently proving Tom correct. He went to the next window; it, too, was sealed shut. Undaunted, he moved on to the dining area, where the table was already neatly laid for a formal dinner. “Ah! The safety mechanism on this window has been tampered with!” he exclaimed with a note of triumph. He raised the window and leaned out as far as he could, looking up.

Mary rushed to him, alarmed. Sherlock was hanging out of the window by one hand, kneeling precariously on the sill. “The ledge out here is marvellous!” he cried happily. “And the fancy brickwork makes a perfect stair to the roof.” He moved as if to climb outside.

“Don’t even think about it!” Mary told him sternly, terrified. “If you fall and break your neck, I shall never forgive you!” John did not bother with words. He simply grabbed Sherlock around the middle and hauled him bodily back inside. 

“Scraping you off the pavement is not in this evening’s plans,” he then said grimly, closing the window with an emphatic gesture.

Sherlock was unrepentant. His was the joy of discovery. “Look at the shoe marks on the sill. I’m not the first to have climbed out that way.”

Tom laughed nervously. “I suppose Molly will need to complain to the management,” he suggested, trying to make light of the situation. “That’s a dangerous thing, an open window this high up. I suppose . . . I suppose the previous tenants were the adventuresome types. Can I, um, get you all a drink?”

But before they could respond, the door flew open with a vengeance and Molly whirled into the dining area like one of the Furies, her face white and taut with rage. Without a word, she marched up to Tom and smacked him across the face, hard.

“That, you bloody, heartless bastard, is for playing me for a fool,” she stated, loudly but with an eerie calm in her voice. Then she slapped him again. “And that is for thinking me so stupid that I wouldn’t find you out!”

“What? What are you talking about?” Tom stammered, dismayed. Sherlock and John were frozen with open-mouthed shock, incredulous. Mary couldn’t hold back a proud grin. Go Molly! she thought, cheering inwardly.

“Shut up!” Molly commanded sharply. “Last night when the intercom signalled, you were bloody quick to jump out of bed and answer it, weren’t you?”

“I . . . I was being thoughtful. I . . . thought I’d let you sleep,” Tom explained, pleading.

“You came back and said someone had pressed the wrong button by mistake. But you were gone ages longer than it needed to tell someone they had buzzed the wrong flat,” Molly went on relentlessly, her eyes blazing.

“I was thirsty. I got a drink of water in the kitchen.” Tom’s face was blanched and he looked desperate.

“And then, hours later, you get up again!” Molly accused.

“I needed the loo. All that water. . . .”

“Shut up!” Molly told him again. “I saw the shoe marks on my window sill, and then while I was figuring out what they were, I noticed the safety mechanism on the window had been tampered with. It wasn’t that way yesterday, was it? Who else could have done it but you? I certainly wasn’t climbing about on the building last night!”

“But, but, but, I was in bed with you! I didn’t go climbing around last night either!” Tom protested, his fear making him angry now.

Sherlock started to interrupt, but Mary and John each took an arm and hushed him. They were eager to hear what Molly had to say next. She did not disappoint.

“Do you think I don’t listen to the news?” Molly ranted. “That impossible burglary, just down the street: no one could possibly get into the jewellery shop, they say. But they could from MY ROOF! You despicable moron! You let a jewel thief into my flat, helped him through my window, and then let him back out again when he was done. And you thought so little of my intellect that you never considered I’d figure it out!”

“That’s . . . completely mad!” Tom cried desperately, looking to the others for validation. “Have you ever heard anything so utterly mad in your lives?” He was begging them to see his viewpoint with puppy-like eyes.

“Actually, it sounds rather like the truth,” Sherlock replied dryly. “Those were the very conclusions I’d drawn myself from the evidence. And she hasn’t had access to all the facts that I have gathered elsewhere. Impression deductions, Molly.”

Molly looked at him with an appreciative expression, then turned back to her erstwhile boyfriend. “Mad, am I? Then explain this.” She gestured behind her, and Lestrade strode in from the entryway where he had apparently been awaiting his cue. In his hand was a plastic zip-lock bag, dripping with moisture and filled with jewellery.

“I called Greg and we went to search your flat,” Molly explained. “It took a while, but we found your share of the goods.” She turned to her friends and added, “In the cavity of a frozen turkey, inside his freezer.”

Sherlock looked impressed. “Clever!”

Tom was defeated. “I just . . . this chap . . . he heard I was seeing you, and that you’d moved here and . . . it seemed such a perfect plan. Nothing could go wrong, he said. I really do care about you, Molly! Please, I just wanted . . . it was too good an idea to refuse, that’s all.”

Molly turned away from him in disgust, her back very straight. 

“Come on, lad,” Lestrade said, putting the handcuffs on the completely compliant jewel thief. “Off we go. Sorry I’ll be missing dinner, Molly. I’ll come by later and see how you’re doing.”

After Lestrade and Tom had gone, Molly collapsed into a chair and took a shaking breath. Mary ran to her side and embraced her trembling friend comfortingly. “You were amazing, Molly! That was well done!” she encouraged.

“I couldn’t have done better myself,” Sherlock said generously, earning astonished looks from his friends. “No, really, that was very good detection work.” He frowned at their disbelief. “What? I can give compliments if they’re merited!” he defended himself. Mary smiled at him appreciatively.

“Would you like us to leave?” John asked considerately. “Or, Sherlock and I could leave so you and Mary could be alone?”

Molly shook her head. “No. Let’s just have dinner as we planned. I feel . . . I feel . . . .”

“Weak? Shaky?” Mary guessed. “That’s normal—that’s the adrenaline wearing off. It’ll pass.”

“No, I mean, I feel . . . relieved, I think,” Molly admitted. “I think I’ve known all along there was something wrong with him. I just wanted someone so badly, I was willing to overlook it. He just seemed overly interested in my aunt’s money.”

“He both coveted your money and felt diminished by it,” Sherlock agreed. “That much was plain. His masculinity was threatened by your having so much more than he has. I imagine,” the detective went on thoughtfully, “that he attempted to balance out his inadequacy in this area by initiating a great deal of . . . .”

“Something in the kitchen smells divine, Molly,” Mary said hastily and bit loudly. “Let’s check on dinner, shall we?” She ushered her friend out of the room, but not quickly enough to avoid hearing the start of a hissed lecture from John about the evils of discussing—and dissecting—other people’s sex lives right in front of them.

Molly, not deaf and no fool, also heard and sighed. “He used to call me his sweet little bunny,” she confessed under her breath.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Of course, he did,” she muttered. “But he’s the rabbit, not you, dear.”

“What does that mean?” Molly inquired, puzzled.

“Do you know that rabbit poem? The one that starts: “The rabbit wears a charming face . . . .”

Molly laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I do. I just didn’t know it was a life lesson.”

Mary patted her encouragingly. “He wasn’t right for you in any way, dear. After all, he seemed almost unbearably . . . .”

“Dull,” Molly said.


End file.
